


All the Good Love, When We're All Alone

by Sara Generis (kanadka)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Historical References, M/M, Smuggling, Soviet Shenanigans, warning: Lipsi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 12:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13481367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanadka/pseuds/Sara%20Generis
Summary: East Germany and Estonia share some illicit capitalist music in the mid 1970s.





	All the Good Love, When We're All Alone

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to the Guardians of the Galaxy soundtracks again, which is very danceable if it is not the [Lipsi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Qbc9VUBy_8).

It always takes awhile for East Germany to make his way past the borders. They don't mind East Germans coming around generally, though their money is hard to exchange, but freedom of movement has always been a little restricted and that goes doubly for Their Kind.

A day later he must have relieved himself of the track that was on him because he shows up at the door of Estonia's tiny apartment in Tallinn. "Hey!" he says spritely. He drops the giant briefcase he's carrying with a heavy thunk on the linoleum in the doorway and cups Estonia's face in both his hands to kiss him on the cheek.

For a moment Estonia stands shock still, his face on fire - the Teutonic Order never did anything like this, Prussia never did anything like this, why is East Germany doing it now? Not that he's complaining - _is_  he complaining? - but where did this come from? But then East Germany's long fingers rub over the sensitive shell of Estonia's earlobe and he pulls back to give him a rakish wink.

Estonia gets the picture. Somewhere - maybe in his own apartment, maybe on East Germany himself - there's a bug. Listening.

"You want to come in for a drink? Only I wasn't expecting you today -" that's a lie, Estonia can feel it whenever Teutonic Order, Prussia, East Germany, whatever his name is, crosses his borders, he can feel every one of them except Russia himself which is so by construction and paperwork and control - "so I didn't really do any shopping." Not like there's much in the stores.

"Oh, that's alright," says East Germany. "I thought we could go out and take a bit of air, it's such a nice day!" It is October in Tallinn. It is twelve degrees and windy. "Let me just leave my coat here. Hey, you got any tapochki I could borrow?"

Tapochki are Russia’s house slippers, which he insists upon. "Sure," says Estonia, and hands over a pair of knitted slippers.

"Ah..." East Germany's face falls. "Have you got ones that aren't maybe so nice?"

"Well, I got two planks of wood and some elastic bands," says Estonia dryly. "Look, just take them, I'll make more."

East Germany's car is waiting outside. "You actually got a car?" Estonia is impressed and happily jumps in at East Germany's invitation. East Germany tiptoes around to his side of the car in his new house slippers, trying not to dirty them too much on the dusty concrete, having ditched both his coat and his shoes at Estonia's place.

"I, uh, had to build it myself," East Germany admits. "The rest of them go first to the higher ups, you know, the ones that don't get Sweden's cars. Otherwise I would’ve been on the waitlist for years. It runs a bit not so smooth. You'll see. Luckily it doesn't go fast enough for the fact that it's made of plastic to worry you about safety!"

Estonia has never cared as much about safety as any German brother has. "It's really not that terrible," he says, as the engine starts up with an oddly musical dinging.

East Germany smirks. "I wish I could lie like you," he says. "You're good at being unreadable."

"It's not a lie! You should see what Russia's been making. The body on his cars weighs a ton, you can't drive them two hundred metres." Estonia should know, there's one parked outside that Russia gave him to use. Driving it tests his patience too much.

"Well, I could make something a lot sturdier with my brother's help (and materials)," says East Germany, though it's clear from his expression that he's very pleased with praise. He always was, thinks Estonia. Easiest way to get to him.

Once they get on the road, East Germany flips on the radio to one of the Russian channels. He catches Estonia's wariness out of the corner of his eyes. "What? Don't give me that. They can't hear you through this, you know that."

"Oh, I don't know anything," says Estonia airily.

"That's always the smartest answer," replies East Germany.

They drive in relative silence with directions from Estonia to lead them somewhere quiet where there's nobody around. The thought of taking someone to a private location sends chills up Estonia's spine, even though he knows this isn't what it's for.

By the time they park, Estonia is dying to know. "So!" he says, "What've you got for me today?"

"How tragic, you're just using me for my connections, I knew it all along," says East Germany, a hand clasped to his heart in a jocular wistful fondness. He turns off the car and opens the door. "Follow me," he says.

Eighty records are stuffed into the upholstery of the back seat bench of the Trabant. This is more than East Germany has ever brought him before - usually it's one or two, here and there, smuggled inside a suitcase. Estonia feels like a child on Christmas and he can tell by the way East Germany flushes and grins that his elation and disbelief is all over his face. So much for unreadable.

"You wouldn't also happen to have -"

"'Course I do, darling," purrs East Germany through a cavalier half-smile, and Estonia feels that shiver down his spine again. "Who do you think you're dealing with, an amateur? It's in the trunk."

A portable record player, with two speakers, the kind that fits into a suitcase, provided you have an external battery pack or generator, or in this case, East Germany's Trabi. "The record player only runs on AC power, and I couldn't find a quiet enough generator, so..."

"You'll drain your battery doing this," says Estonia.

"Yeah, well, I thought maybe you could put me up for the night," says East Germany.

"I would be happy to, in my apartment," he replies dryly. "You think we can fit in this tiny thing? One of us alone would poke out the window."

"Thought you said it was better than Russia's!"

But Estonia notices the blankets and pillows in the trunk as well. There might be some camping involved. "Just wanted to get away for a bit, did you?"

"Something like that," East Germany replies.

Sure would be nice, thinks Estonia, if _I_ could get away for a bit, but he's careful to hide his snark. East Germany did bring him all these lovely things, after all. And if Estonia is correct in his suspicions, East Germany didn't lug all this stuff over here only to pack it up and bring it back home.

They listen to a few. The first Estonia picks (some of these he doesn't recognise) is David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust, only to hear Moonage Daydream. Then he picks one from a band he's never heard of, and they listen to a few tracks until they hear a slow song. Estonia switches it immediately. "We got all night," suggests East Germany.

"You brought me eighty records and expected me to be patient?" he retorts. “I have no time for slow songs.” East Germany laughs.

When the sun goes down, Estonia starts to shiver (East Germany has been shivering for two hours already without his coat). "C'mon, let's dance," suggests East Germany. "We'll get warm."

"If it's the Lipsi, I'll step on your toes," says Estonia. 

East Germany cackles. "You didn't like my contribution to socialist culture?" But they don't do any sort of steps in particular. At first East Germany is just shifting around, moving his body to try and shake the chill out of his limbs. He's mostly on the beat with his hips, but that doesn't extend to his feet.

"I saw that and I thought, he used to dance so well and now he can't dance worth a damn," Estonia replies, laughing.

"Well now, you are wrong about that. Bad dancing is the only dancing I know. When have I ever danced well in my entire life?"

And Estonia is in an excellent mood, drunk on fun and song and the laissez-faire attitude that this silly nation in all his forms has always had, no matter how terrible the times. "1880s," he says, "there was a ball, and you waltzed with Hungary." Prussia had looked incredibly dashing and his dress uniform had cut him such an exquisite silhouette and Miss Hungary was beautiful as always but Estonia had always thought of her as a cousin and had only had eyes for Prussia. Then he had gone home and refused to think about why he could find a German so attractive when Germans were everything wrong with the way he was being governed.

"Can't believe you remember that," says East Germany. His steps slow.

Estonia smiles and draws nearer. "I remember a lot of things," he says, flush with East Germany's body. At the unhappy twist of those thin lips, Estonia clarifies, "Not all of them were bad," and feels daredevil enough to puts his hands on East Germany's hips to encourage them to keep moving.

And that's how they wind up under the moonlight as the music plays on, in each other's arms - for East Germany hesitantly returns the embrace with an arm slung around Estonia’s shoulders and another resting on his hip, his touch feather-light like he’s ready to move it the second Estonia moves an inch towards rejection. Their eyes watch each other, and fall to each other's lips, and they spend full songs swaying together like that. The uncertain look on East Germany’s face tells Estonia he wasn’t expecting any of this, not the beginning, and not the way it’s progressing.

_lips as sweet as candy - the taste is on my mind - girl you got me thirstin' - for another cup of wiine-_

I should kiss him, thinks Estonia, what a great idea. But just as he gathers his nerves enough to press forward, East Germany backs up.

"I," he starts breathlessly, "I didn't do this for that."

"I know," Estonia replies.

"I mean, that I'm not bringing you this stuff, just 'cause I want ..."

Estonia leans up and presses his mouth to East Germany's. East Germany's protests dwindle and die altogether, as he sighs and tilts his head, fitting them better together.

And, well. It is cold overnight, the temperature goes down to seven degrees, but it's manageable without the wind, manageable sandwiched between two pairs of blankets and in East Germany's arms, drifting off to illicit capitalist music.

In the early hours of the morning, as they’re packing up, East Germany says, "Listen, I don't know if I'll be around for a lot."

"Is something the matter?"

"Nothing yet," he replies, "nothing that I know about. I just ... have the feeling that these little excursions of ours are going noticed."

Estonia shouldn't be surprised. Between his own spies, Russia's, and the intelligence terror that is the East German Stasi, he doesn't want to be caught with contraband. "It's my fault," says East Germany. "I'm too frequently here. It's suspicious."

"Thought you said you weren't bringing this stuff for any reason," Estonia says.

"It wasn't the reason," says East Germany, sheepish. He draws nearer and buries his face in the crook of Estonia's neck and shoulder, where he kisses the side of Estonia’s jaw before admitting very quietly, "But it might've been the excuse."

"Maybe you want to take these back, then," Estonia sighs.

"Mm, no," East Germany insists, "they're yours. We'll load 'em into your car at like, five am."

They walk a mile back to a main road, where they take a cab home, where East Germany retrieves the giant briefcase he left. There, they use Estonia's car, that piece of shit Lada Russia gave him, though East Germany manages to drive it with fewer outbursts of rage than Estonia manages on a good day, which is proof that Estonia is more hotheaded and East Germany more patient than either of them know.

Surprise of surprises, the giant briefcase contains what East Germany needs to recharge his Trabant and return it to road-capability. "At least enough to get me to Warsaw," he says, then adds, "they'll be pressing the latest Pink Floyd album soon. Which, you _have_ to hear."

"Well, only if it won't look suspicious," he says.

You don't need an excuse to come and see me, he doesn't say, or ask when is soon. East Germany is not the only one who finds it easier to be reckless under the cover of darkness.

_omake:_

In East Germany's coat pocket is a bug, and stitched into the lining at the hem is another one. Estonia removes these and crushes them. Free coat!

_omake 2:_

There's two more bugs in the false soles of East Germany's shoes. Estonia removes these and crushes them. Free shoes! Except that they are a bit too large for him so he gives them to Lithuania, who has a size bigger feet. He doesn't tell Lithuania where they came from, because he has a suspicion that he wouldn't want them if he knew they were Prussian cast offs, and Lithuania quite wisely doesn’t ask. Still, free shoes.

**Author's Note:**

> In 1971 Honecker became General Secretary of the ruling Socialist Unity Party of Germany in the German Democratic Republic. In the 50's and 60's music as well as other cultural factors from beyond the Iron Curtain were firmly restricted and censored and the SED took an especially hard line towards popular music. All this to say, East Germany missed the heyday of Elvis and the Beach Boys and other 50's rock, as well as the beginning heyday of the Beatles in the 60's. That doesn't mean such records weren't findable within East Germany's borders, but you would have had to be someone who knew someone to obtain the material.
> 
> Honecker was, relative to this, more relaxed where music was concerned, and combined with a (relative) detente in the early 70s in the Cold War generally, in the early 70s you would find official East German pressings of records and vinyl was openly bought. That doesn't mean it got all the way to all portions of USSR, however.


End file.
